Meditation With Flies
by Gina R Snape
Summary: Part of the 30 minute fic challenge on http:www.livejournal.comcommunity30minutefics Severus at age 15, meditates on his life thus far.


Part of the 30 minute fic "King of Pain" challenge on LJ.   
  
http://www.livejournal.com/community/30minutefics/   
  
Subject: Severus Snape Title: Meditation with Flies Rating: PG Pairings (if any): none Author's Notes: Severus Snape, age 15, meditating on the state of his life. Time started: 2:38pm Time ended: 3:08. Blimey, 30 minutes goes fast! I did cheat and came up with the title afterwards Disclaimer: I make no profit off this fic. I had no beta on this fic. 'Tis the nature of this challenge. Please read and review.  
  
**** The Headmaster told me to sit alone and meditate, perhaps that would help. But itÕs not. ItÕs the problem, really. I sit alone, a lot, and think, a lot, about everything. About all of them, out there, and me, in here, in this room, in this body, in this mind, in this reality.   
  
So to clear my mind I zap some flies. Avada Kedavra isnÕt illegal when used on flies. What else am I to practise on? Bloody things only have a 3-day life span anyway.   
  
ItÕs so nice to be gawked at one moment, invisible the rest. It was like that at home. Father would yell at mother, not knowing or not caring that I was in the next room, or sometimes in the same room. I hated when he was home. On especially energetic days the wand would come alive with hexes. Has nobody noticed in 15 years that I return from that house with hex marks bigger than dinner plates all over my body? It takes days to heal. I suppose I should see Madam Pomfrey about them. But whatÕs the use. They go away, but they donÕt stop coming.   
  
IÕve grown tired of crying. Grown men donÕt cry, and I am a man now. I have the body hair and daily morning erections to prove it. Not that IÕve got anyone to show this physical proof. Because IÕm invisible, remember? At least, invisible when IÕm not being gawked at or mocked. Father was well chuffed the day I stopped crying after my motherÕs daily mental torture. "Finally, some silence out of that boy!" he said one day. HeÕll be crying soon, though. When I stopped crying, I started watching. And listening. And learning. IÕve learned nearly every hex heÕs used on us over the years now. Soon heÕll get a taste of his own medicine. At least I can practice on Potter and his little gang of sunshine boys. Managed a quick shot at Bertha Jorkins last week, damn her for messing with us. Florence was the first bloody girl to pay any attention to me at all in, oh, forever, and that prissy little nosey thing Bertha had to come along and disrupt the first moment of pleasure and peace I am afforded in ages. Now Florence is frightened of me for my fast reflexes. DidnÕt know I knew so many hexes, did she? I thought the whole school knew by now.   
  
Ah, but I wouldnÕt be hexing her, the dear girl. Not when I could be stroking and fondling and pleasuring her in so many ways. I know she liked it. I felt the damp heat between her legs with my own hand. She pulled me into the bushes. She took my manhood in her hands. She whispered "Severus, oh if the other girls only knew what lies beneath those robes. YouÕre my little secret, Severus. YouÕre so good. YouÕre so smart, and sweet and shy."   
  
Why am I to suffer because my father is a bastard and I have lightening-quick reflexes? Why am I to suffer because I was too weak and mistreated to handle a broom until long after the other boys? Those marauders, up to no good yet they get away with everything. Snivellus gets detention for lack of a winning smile. Well, what have I got to bloody well smile about?   
  
I thought school would be an escape. But instead I think it is my destiny to suffer. To be alone and despised and mocked and ignored. I watch them, watch them all. Friends carousing in the hallways. Passing notes in class. Snogging in the rose bushes with every girlÑtheyÕll all be paired off before long. Sitting at meals with friends.   
  
I donÕt even get the attention I deserve in my own house. "Oh Severus, youÕre so smart," they say. "Can you spare us your notes? Can you brew us a love potion? Can you hex that nasty Ravenclaw who wonÕt shut up in Herbology?" But where are they come Hogsmeade weekend? Where are they when I need something? Not that I need anything, or anyone. I can take care of myself. Only Bellatrix seemed to understand that. And sheÕs gone now. Finished her NEWTs and married that LeStrange. Joined that movement IÕve been hearing about. Got herself a wicked new wand and a hidden tattoo. I sit alone in the library, and wait. My day will come. I know how to wait, and watch. The Headmaster says I should learn to share my feelings. No, rather I learn how to hide them. Far more useful, I think, to keep them away from others. What will it help me to hand over my heart and soul on a silver platter? In fact, the Restricted Section has a very interesting book on hiding oneÕs feelings, and reading othersÕ. ItÕs the single most practical thing IÕve found in here all month.   
  
I must have zapped fifteen flies sitting here. What in MerlinÕs name has died in this room?   
  
No matter. Next week is the full moon. I think itÕs time I found something else useful out about where sunshine PotterÕs little lackey goes when the moon comes up. I think itÕs time to plan, indeed. I think itÕs finally time to catch those little wankers at their game. I need a little reward in this life. Lord knows it would be the first time.   
  
THE END  
  
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